Trumpton: The Big Night Out
by Ursa Dextra
Summary: A teenage Mary Murphy has a hot date with a certain young carpenter; but she's reckoned without a light breeze.


Mrs Murphy is busy curling her daughter's hair with tongs when her husband walks into the bedroom.

"Oh, hello - what's all this in aid of? Are you off to a party?" He gestures at his daughter's faceful of makeup and new outfit; bell-bottom jeans, chunky platform sandals, and a powder blue shirt with puffy tulle sleeves and a frill around the collar.

"Not a party, no." The girl looks down and smirks a little.

"Hasn't she told you about tonight?!" Mrs Murphy asks incredulously, "She's got a date!"

"She hasn't told me, no." Mickey struggles to hide his annoyance at being kept in the dark and concern for his daughter's personal safety.

"I was going to, Dad. But you've been busy at work all day..."

"Who is it, then? Someone we know?"

"I don't think you do know him," says Mary, "He was a friend of Paddy's at school. The last few times we've been to watch the football, he's come along with us. That's how I met him. It was really funny, Paddy hid our tickets and wouldn't let us have them back until we'd agreed to meet up. He said he was so sick of seeing us stare at each other. I couldn't stop laughing."

"He's called Nibs," says Mrs Murphy, "Nibs Minton."

"_Nibs_? What kind of name's that?"

"It might be short for something," says Mary, "Nicholas, maybe? I don't know."

"He's got a good trade, hasn't he?" Mrs Murphy says, "He's a carpenter. He'll be able to make all your furniture. You'll never be short of a bookshelf as long as you live."

"I haven't actually decided if I'm going to marry him yet, Mum."

"What I really care about," says Mickey, interrupting their giggles, "Is where you're going and when you'll be back."

"We're just going to a disco in Trumpton," says Mary, "I'm getting a taxi home. I should be back by ten, or eleven at –"

"No. _No!_ Absolutely not. I'll come and pick you up at eight. You are fourteen years old."

"Dad, I'm seventeen."

Mickey's mouth drops open. He shakes his head, covers his eyes, then leaves the room.

"He just worries about you," says Mrs. Murphy quietly, "it's because he cares."

"I know, Mum."

"_Please_ try to be back for ten, though. We don't want to be up late."

"OK, I promise."

Mickey comes stomping back in to pick up the jacket he was originally looking for, and stomps out again. Mother and daughter look at each other and try not to laugh too loud.

Mrs Murphy leaves the curling tongs on the windowsill to cool while she rummages in a drawer for one finishing touch – a shimmering silver mesh handbag, teardrop shaped with a black satin lining, a snap closure and a little chain to hang over one arm.

"This is my lucky bag," she says, "I took this on my first date with your dad. I've been keeping it so that you could have it one day."

"Mum, it's lovely! Are you sure, though? I don't want to lose it."

"Oh, I trust you. You're grown-up enough to have nice things now. In fact, I think you must be older than I was then."

"Oh, thank you! Thanks so much!"

She collects up the eyeshadow and lipstick that her mother has also lent her, then goes to her own bedroom to find her spending money for the evening; a roll of pound notes that she's been hiding in her sock drawer for just such an occasion. Checking her reflection in the mirror she is slightly more surprised than she should be to see a beautiful, sophisticated young woman smiling back at her. She thinks of Nibs – poor little Nibs, shy and a little timid at the best of times, how he turns to jelly when she turns up for the football coach. She feels the toe-curling tug at her heartstrings that's become all too familiar over the last few weeks, an urgent but as yet unfulfillable need to sweep him up in her arms and make it all better as she pictures the look on his face when he sees how well she can scrub up. The thought occurs to her that he might not turn up at all; but she puts it from her mind.

* * *

Trumpton Market Square. Evening. Mary got lucky on the way here; whilst she was standing at the bus stop, Jonathan Bell came by in his brand new Range Rover and offered her a lift. He was hurrying to pick up some egg box labels from the printer before closing time, and taught her far more about the marketing of eggs than she ever realised there was to ask about without giving her much chance to brag about her plans for the evening; but she is at least grateful that she managed to arrive early and free of charge. She's had a glance in a few shop windows to pass the half hour until the agreed meeting time, but now, with ten minutes to go, it seems reasonable to stay in the square. She's finding the shoes quite awkward to walk in, the heels are a lot higher than she's used to. It's been a warm day, the warmest day of the Spring so far, but now a chilly breeze is getting up and makes her wish she'd brought a coat. Although the hustle and bustle of the day has died down now that the shops have closed, there are still a few people wandering by occasionally. One figure is pacing up and down outside the Town Hall – a young man dressed in a grey suit made for someone noticeably taller and slimmer than himself. He has sandy hair, just long enough to curl under his ears, and that's what catches Mary's eye.

"Nibs!" she calls out, dashing over as fast as she can in her new shoes, "Nibs, um – hello!"

He glances up with a face like a rabbit in headlights and makes a small involuntary whinnying sound in response.

"I nearly didn't recognise you in your suit. You look very smart."

"Mmk. Erm. I mean, thanks." His cheeks pinken slightly as he avoids her gaze.

"Well?" she says, indicating her outfit, "What do you think?"

"Hm?"

"Do I look nice?"

"Oh! Err – yes, lovely. You shirt is very nice. Sorry, I – You do, you do look nice. I'm sorry." He stutters to halt.

"It's OK, I know you're nervous. I am, a bit."

"Mm-hm."

"I'm not just here because my brother blackmailed me, honestly. I thanked him."

"Right. I'll, um, try and pull myself together. Sorry, I can do better." He takes a deep breath, and continues in the manner of someone who is trying to remember a phrase in a foreign language. "Hello – um –good evening – you look – very nice – um – do you want – err – shall we go to – the disco?"

"Why yes, I'd love to!"

But they both stay standing in the same place and giggle between themselves instead.

"Well, let's get going then," says Mary at length, "you'll have to show me where this place is."

"Oh, yes, it's down here and then left and – ooh!" Nibs is pulled up short by Mary giving in to the urge to slip her arm through his.

"Ha, sorry, I couldn't resist," she says with a mischievous grin, "You're just so firm and muscley..."

"That's just... just my saw arm," he replies, his cheeks turning from pink to red.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise!" she says with a gasp, letting go quickly, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He responds with a puzzled look.

"...You said it felt sore?"

"S-A-W. The one I saw with!"

She laughs, and he laughs, and the ice is broken. They walk around the corner together to the pub that's hosting the disco. It's easy to spot from the end of the street, the building with the crazy flurry of light and sound bursting from every door and window, but there are only a handful of people inside. The first thing Mary has to do is take off her shoes, as she's struggling to walk in them and needs some energy to coax her brother's attractive friend onto the dance floor. The music isn't really to her taste, but the company makes up for it; it turns out that Nibs' dance skills are the perfect kind of average, not so good as to be intimidating or so bad as to be embarrassing, and bumps into her just often enough to be amusing. He gives his full attention, plus plenty of the cute little smiles that turn her slightly light-headed. Also, being a couple of years her senior, he can buy her a glass of wine – although it transpires that wine is not quite as tasty as she has always been led to believe. She does her best to glug it down as fast as she can without grimacing, but doesn't quite succeed.

"Is it OK? The wine?" asks Nibs, a little concerned that he might have failed some sort of test by bringing the wrong thing.

"What did you say? I can't hear!" Mary replies, struggling to raise her voice over the music.

"Sorry, what?!"

She gestures to the door, and leads him outside. With a stone wall between themselves and the speakers, it's much easier to hear when he repeats the question.

"Oh, it's fine, it just went up my nose a bit. I think I drank it too fast."

"I've never seen someone drink wine so fast."

"Thanks for buying it, anyway."

They lose another minute or so to smiling at each other and suppressing giggles.

"Well, are we – do you want to – shall we – go back in?" says Nibs eventually.

"I dunno, they're playing a lot of soul, aren't they? I'm not mad on soul. It's OK, it just gets a bit samey after a while. Do you fancy a little walk instead? We could find somewhere to sit in the park."

"Yeah. Let's have a walk."

"I'll just pop back in for my shoes."

They potter off back down the street together, across the square and into the park, comparing notes on current musical trends and finding quite a lot of common ground. It's nearly dark by now, and no-one is about. Mary takes off her shoes and walks on the grass, flexing her scrunched-up feet.

"Oh look, it's the bandstand!" she exclaims, pointing, "I used to come with Paddy every Tuesday to see the fire brigade band. "

"I probably saw you there," replies Nibs, "I used to go along with my dad."

"How strange, that we were both here together and never noticed each other."

"Yeah."

"Shall we sit down?"

Before he can reply, she's skipped off to park herself in the middle of the top step. She places her shoes and handbag beside her.

"Come and sit with me," she calls out to him, "you can see the lights reflecting in the pond, it's really nice!"

"I can see from here. Yes, it's pretty."

"Come and sit with me though."

"Err – if you're sure you don't mind? I mean..."

"Nibs! Shut up and sit next to me!"

He hurries over and settles beside her. The steps aren't quite wide enough for them to sit side-by-side without touching.

"Are you OK?" she asks, slightly concerned, "Are you having another attack of nerves? You're shivering all over."

"You are too!"

"That's just because there's a cold breeze, you've got a jacket on. I don't bite, honest!"

But the boy jumps at the opportunity to slip off his jacket and wrap it around her.

"Oh Nibs, you're _so_ sweet. Thank you!"

"Heh. Um. You're welcome."

"Shall we see if it'll go round us both?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's my dad's. He'll go crazy if I tear it, he doesn't even know I borrowed it, he's gone away for the weekend with my mum."

"Silly Nibs! I mean I want to snuggle up. Come on, come on!"

She extends a jacket-draped arm across his back. Slowly he begins to relax and lean against her, and threads his arms around her waist. She is thrilled with her success, and glad of the body heat that seeps through her clothes and skin where he touches her. The thought drifts through her mind that, in fifty years' time, they might be sitting here with their grandchildren; this young man could easily be the love of her life. She gives him a squeeze, he nuzzles into her neck and sighs deeply, she strokes his hair, he gives her a squeeze. They remain clasped together in such a way for an unguessable amount of time; maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour, just enjoying each other's company as much as two people can.

"Would you like to kiss me?" asks Mary at length.

"Well, if – if you want – if you'd like me to?" says Nibs, sleepily.

"Are you going to kiss me, or not?"

"I won't force you, if you don't, you know, if you're not ready, I..."

"I didn't come all this way to go home with no kiss, now did I?"

"Um..."

"Is everything going to have to be a battle with you? Nibs, I really like you. I want to see you again. I know you feel the same, Paddy told me. Why won't you kiss me?"

"I'm sorry, I... Mary, I do want to, I – I just get this far, then mess it up. I'm really bad at it. Whenever I've tried to kiss a girl, she just laughs at me. Every time."

"You've kissed a lot of girls, then?"

"Not_ loads_, but..."

"Just the right amount?"

"Now _you're_ laughing at me." he looks downcast.

"I'm sorry, Nibs. I'm really sorry. I won't make fun of you, I promise. What if I show you how it's done?"

"OK, but don't laugh at me."

"I won't," she says, as she lightly takes hold of his chin and steers his face close to hers, "Just do as I say, don't try anything fancy. Give me a little kiss on the cheek, like you'd give your grandma."

Timidly, hesitantly, the boy complies.

"How was that? Nice?"

"Yeah."

"Now the same, but on my lips."

Slightly more confidently, he leans in again and touches a little snap of a kiss to her filtrum; his eyes meet hers, and he is unable to move away. Her hands creep up the back of his head, pressing him into a long, desperate wrestle of a kiss. Helpless, he falls back onto the floor of the bandstand. Mary follows, crouching over him to kiss him and kiss him again.

"Is that – is that OK?" He asks breathlessly as they come up for air for the third time.

"Lovely."

He gazes up at her with a dazed grin.

"You've got lipstick all round your mouth!" she says, giggling.

"Does it suit me?"

"You look beautiful. I'll put you some more on."

She sits up to grab her handbag and rummages for her make-up. She tosses the bag aside carelessly as she smears on more lipstick and begins branding her date's face with lots and lots of deep red lip-prints. He lies back and lets her get on with it, giving a few little murmurs and sighs in response.

Far away, behind the trees and a row of buildings and across the square, the Trumpton clock chimes. Mary stops what she's doing and listens.

"What's wrong?" Nibs asks.

"Did you hear how many tinks that was?"

"I wasn't listening."

"If it was nine, I'll have to get going soon. I promised I'd be home for ten. That's the thing with living in a bakery, everyone gets up early and goes to bed early."

"Oh, right."

"Do you know how long you have to wait for a taxi, usually? Does it take a while?"

"I don't know, I've never had to use one."

"Hm. Maybe I ought to go. I don't want to be late, Dad was funny about me coming out anyway. He forgets how old I am."

"Yeah, my parents are a bit like that sometimes."

Mary hands Nibs his jacket, which has fallen aside unnoticed, and reaches for her handbag to put the lipstick away.

"My money's gone!" she says in a gasp.

"What's happened?" he asks, concerned.

"I had some pound notes in here for the taxi, they've gone!"

"They must have blown away," he says, and points to the hedge that lies downwind, "so they'll be over there."

Mary jumps from the bandstand and runs in the direction in which he's pointing, but there is no money to be seen. She rummages through the bushes, tearing her shirt sleeve in the process, and peers through the railings into the street beyond. Nibs runs up behind her to join the search, but also finds nothing.

"I can live without the money," she says, trying hard not to panic, "But how will I get home? Do you think your dad might take me? Or can you drive his van?"

"He's gone to the seaside with my mum in the van."

"Oh yes, I remember you telling me now."

"You could come to my house and use our 'phone?"

"My dad would go mad if I called him at this time of night! Especially from your house. Because I'd lost my money."

"Is there no-one else you can call, though?"

"I don't the number of anyone else who's got a car and lives nearby, no."

"Hmm."

"Oh, what am I going to do?!" She wipes a tear from her eye, smearing her make-up.

Nibs lays a comforting hand on her elbow.

"May I suggest the fire brigade?"

* * *

Captain Flack marches out of the fire station door and blows a sharp note on his whistle as the firefighters line up in front of the engine.

"Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grubb! Kindly escort Mr. Minton's girlfriend back to the Camberwick Green bakery."

"I didn't tell him you were my girlfriend, honest!" Nibs whispers to Mary. He has just been inside the building to explain the situation.

"I can't imagine why he'd think that."

"He must have just assumed – you know, with you being a girl..."

"And you're covered in my lipstick."

"Oh! Still?"

"Yeah. Well, I'd better get off anyway, they're waiting for me."

"Right. Well, I'll – see you later then? Shall I give you a ring?"

"On the 'phone, or..?"

"Hah!"

"Yeah, I'll see you later." She clambers up into the passenger seat of the fire engine. "Next weekend, maybe?"

"I'm free on Sunday."

"See you next Sunday then!"

They wave to each other as the fire engine trundles away; she watches his figure in the wing mirror become smaller and smaller until it's out of sight. It's only then that she notices her own reflection, and the state of her own makeup. Did she think to put a hankie in her bag that she could tidy it up with? She can't specifically remember. She snaps open the handbag to peer inside, but on this country lane it's impossible to see anything. She slides in her hand, feeling for something that could be useful; her finger follows the seam in the lining down, down to... a hole? Her heart skips a beat. Yes, there is her money, caught between the lining and the metallic outer shell of the bag. How very embarrassing! Imagine what her parents will think when she arrives home by fire engine, dishevelled from her windswept hair to her dusty feet. It's certainly been a night to remember.

She sits the bag back on her lap and enjoys the ride.


End file.
